Insane Clarity
by ThickerThanLove
Summary: Originally written for the Michelangelo Fan Book, set in the 1987 Series. Michelangelo has always been the most spiritual and empathic of his brothers, something Master Splinter has been trying to help him expand. A chance encounter with Baxter Stockman will push it to a new level. Michelangelo has never been able to turn down a cry for help.


Insane Clarity

TMNT and all their characters are owned by Nickelodeon and were originally created by Peter Laird and Kevin Eastman. No infringement intended. This story is focused in the 1980-verse.

"Baxter, what exactly did we do to you again, dude?"

The Turtles were hardly expecting an answer. When Baxter had trailed along with them from their trip back through dimensions, they supposed they should have expected it. They had last seen him cast into dimensional limbo but all the same, they were getting tired of this same old game. Baxter always managed to create problems which drew in Krang and Shredder and somehow, without them being remotely involved, they would get involved. They had no beef with Baxter, except when his plans happened to involve people they cared about. Unlike Shredder who seemed pretty devoted to his take-over-the-world-plot, Baxter hadn't even really started out as an enemy, just a lackey of Shredder's.

Still, Raphael gave his youngest brother a glare at the question, "Really, Michelangelo? Haven't we asked him that dozens of times? What, you think he had time to rehearse and can give us a polished version now?"

Baxter interjected, flying down at the turtles with a laser blaster in hand, declaring, "What did you doooo? What did you dooo? It's your fault I'm like this! It's your my computer friend is gone! It's all your fault!"

"Hey!" Donatello fired back "We didn't start any of this! You and Shredder were the ones that decided to—" He dodged, went into a roll as he narrowly avoided the blast from the mutated creature. He was tired and his reflexes were dampened. He supposed they all were. Having adrenaline pumping through your veins only worked so long. He was feeling a major adrenaline crash and he knew it had to be hitting his brothers too. Baxter was never an easy foe to deal with. At least with their other enemies, they could semi-reason with. Baxter's mind had been splintered since his fuse with the fly in the Technodrome.

You…well, you…" Baxter paused a moment, though just one and then declared, firing, "I…it musta been something horrible. Look at me!" Anything Donatello had said refused to connect. His mind could make no sense of it.

Leonardo spoke out, trying as they always did, to reach him. He truthfully found it to be a lost cause but his sense of honor demanded he at least attempt it, "Baxter, we didn't have anything to do with that!"

Donatello dodged the next blast again as they attempted to corner him under an awning, "Remember? Shredder and Krang are the ones that cross-mutated you!"

"Shredder…and Krang?" Baxter fluttered his wings a bit in a swaying hover. "Yes…they…betrayed me…"

"Right, Dude," Michelangelo chimed in, his gentle heart always clinging to any hope. "They totally screwed you over!"

"No!" Baxter grabbed his head a moment, shaking it back and forth, "They…Shredder called me his son. He…hates me and I will have my revenge on you and him!"

Raphael blinked, "Say what? That doesn't even make sense!"

Donatello frowned, "Well, Raphael, it seems like every time we interact with him, his mind slips away more." He added, "We don't know what the mutation did to his min-" He leapt to the right, narrowing dodging another blast. "Though it doesn't seem to have endeared us to him any."

"It's so reassuring that you figured that out—Leonardo, heads up!" Raphael did a back flip and narrowly caught himself on the edge. "Seriously, who designed this building? Who puts an awning on a second floor? I'm gonna sue the architect!"

Leonardo avoided the same blast, rolling over to grab Raphael's arm to steady him. Donatello ran to their side, leaving Michelangelo the closest to the fly mutant. He eyed the former Baxter Stockman and he could not shake the feeling of desperation, of lostness. He dodged the second blast, barely and he was pretty sure it grazed his foot but he didn't care right now. No, no matter what his brothers thought, he was convinced—Baxter could be saved. The old scientist was still alive, somehow. The emotions he was getting blasted with: confusion, anger, depression, desperation and even a hint of life-doesn't-matter-anymoreness, were crystal clear even if the fly-man's thoughts were not.

"Die Turtles! Or…was it frogs…" Baxter's words were slurring until they were little more than swirled shouts.

"Michelangelo!"

He ignored his fiery brother's protest and tackled the fly, taking a shot to the shoulder in the process and grasped Baxter tight on the arm, ignoring the horrible prickly feeling that spread through his body at the fly hairs. Baxter was still alive, he was and the surfer turtle was not gonna leave him like this! Not anymore! Not to be abused, not to be used, not to wander completely lost and not even knowing who he was! He couldn't do that. He wouldn't do that!

He was hardly an expert at this empathy thing but ever since Master Splinter had convinced him to give more weight to his gift, his dreams, his intuitions, it was coming naturally. He found it far harder to ignore it now than to embrace it. Focusing on his emotions, on his emotional eye that Splinter had been teaching him, he felt Baxter's spirit, felt his soul. It felt so abandoned and frightened, curled into such a tight bundle that it was hard to find it. But find it he did, and when he did, he clasped onto it, hard. He yanked, pulled, begged, **Lemme help you**!

The spirit rejected, screamed in fright and misplaced hate. It pushed back, trying to urge the warm of the young turtle's soul away but Mikey's own spirit proved stronger and he pulled the both of them into the Astral Plane, with both of their bodies tumbling limp to the rooftop, the ray gun clattering away from Baxter's limp hand.

"MICHELANGELO!" Raphael reached the crumbled form of his brother first, grasping him tight in his arms, "Michelangelo, answer me, buddy!"

Nothing. His brother breathed, slow and steady and as Leonardo and Donatello approached, Raphael took note—Baxter's breathing was completely in sync with Michelangelo's, their chests rose at the same time and fell at the same moment. Michelangelo's eyes were wide but empty, almost glazed over and Baxter's wide red fly eyes had the same glance-empty, not seeing. Letting out a deep sigh of frustration, he turned to his leader, snarling, "God, I hate it when he does the Professor X thing."

The spiritual plane, astral plane, whatever you wanted to call it, was a place that Michelangelo had been to before, given all his focus and training on his emotional and spiritual abilities but it was still surreal. He still saw it more in his dreams than when he was awake (though, was this really awake?) Whispy, mist-like landscape and no real land. Picture what you thought a place made out of thought and soul looked like and you would be both wrong and right at the same time.

Brain-hurt.

It was the first time he had tried to pull someone ELSE into his own plane though. He could feel his brothers still in the solid world, not this metaphysical world, but he couldn't focus on them right now. Instead, he set his sights on the individual in front of him, on Baxter Stockman. He saw him with his mind's eye, as you saw all things on the spiritual plane, but it still was heart-breaking.

A grotesque creature, looking like the brown haired scientist they had known so long ago but with wings and mandibles coming out of his mouth and one eye human and one half fly. He stared at Michelangelo, shaking, fear rolling off him in such waves that the turtle was sure he was physically shaking and most likely scaring the hell out of his siblings. No time for that.

"Baxter, dude...let me help you...please." His voice cracked and echoed around them, being everywhere and nowhere and inside and outside all at once.

"Help...how can you...help ...me..." the cry was half a fly buzz, half human and full of pain, anguish, suffering. He emitted such loneliness and lost-ness that Mikey wrapped his hands in a tight bear hug around himself. He felt abandoned himself...no, no, he couldn't let himself be overwhelmed. Focus. Let the emotions help you, not hinder you. Help, not hinder, help not hinder…ground yourself, Dude, ground yourself!

He stretched out a hand, laid it on the semi-physical form of Baxter, focusing his heart on those emotions that were scaring him so much. It took so much energy. He was not an expert at this yet...

The landscape exploded into colors, images. Memories, thoughts, emotions, all of Baxter's soul scattered across the Astral Plane like food at a banquet. Yet, they were all shattered. Like looking at a stained glass window that was horribly cracked and wrought with age. Covered in this horrible blackness and when he prodded it, he felt such basic instinct-sugar, eat, sex, reproduce, die. The fly's mind. Baxter's mind was overwhelmed with pieces of animalistic fly everywhere.

"No wonder you're so lost, dude. The fly's totally mixed with your mind like some mondo-sicko parfait!" He closed his eyes tightly, focusing as much as he could. Had he seen his physical form, cradling in Raphael's arms, he would have seen and felt his pulse rush to a hum. He would have seen his breaths start to come in rapid fire patterns. He would have seen his muscles quiver and shake. As it was though, he only had focus for the poor creature before him. He settled on Baxter's emotions, just Baxter's and slowly, pain-stackingly, began to pull the human from the fly.

"Dude, I suck at puzzles..."

"Mikey!"

Raphael shook his brother again but he didn't budge, "C'mon, Mikey, this is NOT the place to be playing Madame Cleo!"

Donatello took hold of his youngest sibling's wrist, looked at his watch. "His pulse is quick. Means his blood pressure is probably up too." He shifted his eyes to his eldest brother, "What do we do Leonardo?"

The blue banded turtle knelt, laying a hand on his brother's forehead, whispering, "We give him what strength we can spare. And we wait."

That was the only thing they could do.

"Who are you, Dude?" Michelangelo spoke it softly to Baxter's spiritual visage, keeping it soft and unthreatening.

Michelangelo never took his eyes off the shattered pieces of soul that literally swam around them, swirling like a broken kaleidoscope. He could feel Baxter's soul tremble and shake under his touch. It made his own body start to tremble, with fear and uncertainty. One nasty side effect of being an empath—he literally felt Baxter's fears and anxiety as if it were his own. He kept having to pause and remind himself 'foreign emotions, not yours.' It made the process so mind-numbingly slow and it hurt…it was making his head throb, holding this much emotional energy and focus. No, not the time to think about his own discomfort. He had to help Baxter! Seeing how broken his spirit was…Michelangelo's own heart physically hurt. They missed this…how could they have been so blind to this?

"Who..who…am I?" the question was almost parroted, like the man-fly could not really comprehend what he was being asked. Michelangelo focused his eyes on the shattered pieces around them, setting his emotions to zero in on Baxter's centerpoint, the heart of his soul. It was buried deep beneath these broken shards and he gasped out a tearful intake of breath when he saw it was nearly coated in the sticky hairs of the fly-mind. He could barely make out ANYTHING underneath it. Hearing Baxter repeat, "Me? Who I am? I'm…well, I…" he set all his energy on that section, digging his spiritual energies into that horrible blackness and tugging. Tugging hard.

It was like yanking at something made of molasses. It took a firm grip to get a good hold and when you pulled, it took so much strength. The turtle fell to his knees, so he could focus all his strength on removing that nastiness! It took time, all the while Baxter babbling about being a fly and being a man and being a son and a brother and yet being a son of Shredder yet not…it was the ramblings of a mad man. No, not a mad man, nor a bad one. One who was lost, whose own soul had been overtaken by something truly animalistic and parasitic.

He pulled harder.

It seemed to be an unending tug of war but finally, finally, those tightly wound threads of black around Baxter's center soul, around the crux of who he was, shattered, gave and burst into broken shards, revealing a simple burst of white light that was dull but not extinguished. Free from its confines, it grew, expanded, as it could finally breathe again. Daring a glance at the spiritual representation of Baxter, Michelangelo allowed himself a small smile of victory.

The mandibles had disappeared, turning back into a human mouth and one eye was completely human again. Those eyes blinked, stared at him before repeating, "Who am I….I…I'm Baxter Stockman. Baxter Theodore Stockman."

Michelangelo set his sights on the next collection of black threads. These gave a little easier and he saw a faint image of a very young Baxter, probably not even a year. The images were not even really images, more like physical presentations of emotions. He got a feeling of protection from this shard, of belongings and of comfort.

"Son of Lilian Maria Stockman and James Christopher Stockman."

Tugging at the next one, frantically now. This was working. Keep it up. Make the fly mind lose!

"Brother of Barney Sebastian Stockman. He's…my twin…."

Michelangelo felt his strength waning a little but he glanced at Baxter again, feeling his emotions of fear slowly shrinking.

The man's head was lacking any fly characteristics.

He pressed on.

"Donatello!"

Breaking himself out of counting his brother's pulse (which was WAY too fast for him) the genius turtle paled when he saw what had caused Raphael's shock.

Droplets of blood were seeping out of their sibling's otherwise pale forehead, slowly beading down his temples. "I…I…this is rare…hematohidrosis…Leo, his blood pressure has to be through the roof! His pulse is already over 150!" Panic nearly setting in, he declared "We have to pull him out of this! It's going to kill him!"

Leonardo, to his credit, stayed calm. That was why he was leader, he was known for being calm under pressure. Only those closest to him could have seen the horror light up in his eyes. Forcing his hands to still, he reached over and laid a hand on his youngest brother's carotid artery and massaged, gently. Michelangelo, after working with Dr. Goodfellow had taken over for their physician from Donatello but Leonardo had learned this trick a long time ago for calming your pulse rate. The nerve that controlled your heart rate rested right next to the carotid; if he could relax that nerve then it might lower the speed. It was all he could do.

"Come on, Michelangelo," he coaxed softly, "Don't shatter yourself trying to save Baxter."

"When I was only fourteen, I graduated high school. Me and Barney. Oh, I was thrilled for college. I was going to help people. I was going to make a difference, make Mom and Dad proud of me." Baxter sobbed, loudly, on his knees, "I only wanted to a chance. I wanted to show what I could do. I wanted someone to give me a chance! Shredder promised me a chance and like a fool, I took it!"

"Not a fool, Dude," Michelangelo held his hands in a tight circle, the black tentacles of the fly mind condensed in a swirling sphere. He looked around. There were still traces of them, clinging to some remaining memories, remaining traits. This was not right. He felt Baxter's fear, his sorrow. All the poor man had ever wanted was to be recognized, to be praised for what he was strong at. He felt all of the man's pain when those memories of being mocked by his classmates, rejected by his brother and ridiculed by his father for choosing science as a field clutched at his heart like icy fingers. Were they truly so different? Didn't they all want to be recognized, respected?

Loved?

Michelangelo yanked at those black tendrils, tugged, screamed mentally at them to **"Let him go!" "** You were tricked. You're only human."

"Half human." Baxter moaned and Michelangelo corrected him again, pushing all his energy into those last stubborn strands.

"No. ALL human!" he hissed and the world around them trembled in response, "You are Baxter Stockman, Dude and Baxter is a super-smart HUMAN!"

The final strand gave after a battle of tugging with a resounding crack.

The large mass of black formed a fly like shape and Michelangelo focused his mental abilities on a wall, a simple wall around it. He couldn't just rip it out of Baxter. That was a science thing. That was a DNA-mutation science thing. He bet Baxter could do it. He knew Baxter could do it. The guy made the mousers and a tracker to find their own DNA signatures for Pete's sake! He could do it! He could eliminate this final piece of the stupid fly and in the meantime, maybe, maybe Michelangelo's spiritual wall could keep it contained, keep it from running amuck. From clouding and taking over his mind again. Yes, he would. He MUST!

As the final piece was contained within the bright shimmering blockade Michelangelo had created, those shattered images, those memories, they all swirled back together, becoming part of the misty plain once again and that bright light that was Baxter's heart flashed and then…

Michelangelo reentered the physical world with a shout, sitting up straight and nearly hitting his head on Leonardo's chin.

"Michelangelo! Buddy!"

Raphael nearly clobbered him and then strangled him in a hug. Donatello followed suit, letting out a sigh of relief at the reduced heart rate. Michelangelo let them get their embraces in but he locked eyes with Leonardo before looking over to Baxter. Silence reigned and the youngest ninja was fairly sure that he was completely ignoring his brothers rapid fire questions. He couldn't…not right now. He had to know. Had he…had he done anything for-

The fly-creature stirred after a moment, sat up slowly. His wings fluttered a moment before he began to look around, taking in his surroundings. After a time, he looked up, locked eyes with the four mutant turtles sitting not three feet from him. Tears, human tears, clouded that horrendous mutated face. And the turtles, even Raphael, saw something in him they had not seen in a long time.

Clarity.


End file.
